by Beth Lewis
Ten days straight north I went. Sometimes when I looked back I saw the smoke a’ the hut curling up into the blue. After four days it turned white, meaning the fire was out, and after six, I couldn’t a’ spotted it for anything. Couldn’t a’ spotted my home no more and I figured that was the wild telling me I didn’t have one. If all that was true ’bout Trapper then I weren’t even close to being far enough away from him. There was still some nagging bit a’ me what said Lyon was wrong, but every time I thought ’bout turning back and finding that man I called daddy, a picture a’ them shriveled-up scalps flashed up inside my head. Weren’t nothing wrong in that. Weren’t no lies there. So I kept walking.
Trees started changing the farther I went. Thinned out, got taller and broader. It was lighter and brighter in those dying summer days, cool enough not to sweat through your shirts and warm enough to not lose your toes to the bite. All that made for easier walking. I was following the Mussa River, sleeping rough and hunting hand-to-mouth. Sick of squirrels by day three, sick a’ nights on stones and tree roots. Seemed all the other critters were hiding so’s even I couldn’t find them. My snares were coming up empty. My deadfalls triggered but when I went rushing to check them, something bigger had taken my prize. Forest was working against me in those days.
I missed him. I’ll confess that right now without no shame. I missed Trapper in them days. Thought ’bout turning ’round more’n once and seeking him out. But without no hut to go back to I didn’t know where to start. Wondered brief if he’d come looking for me, but I figured he’d be too busy keeping clear a’ Lyon and that six-shooter a’ hers.
But then I saw that dead black hair burning. Saw his charcoal face on that poster and I told myself another lie: Trapper’s dead. Kreagar Hallet killed him. Murdering bastard Kreagar Hallet killed my daddy. Then I didn’t miss him so much no more.
Day ten the ground sloped up steep and I figured I’d got to the top of the valley. River narrowed and I lost it over a high rock face. Never been this far up the world afore. Never seen the Mussa go thin, turning more a stream, trickling over boulders and sand, than the big ol’ snake of the valley.
I had no chance of climbing that rock wall, and much as I didn’t want to leave the river and the only water for miles, I didn’t see no other way. Kreagar always taught me to keep the water close. Water is life and death in the wild. You’re dead in three weeks without meat but only three days without water. Cruel way to die, that is. You get head pain something rotten, it sucks the water out your mouth till you feel you’re eating dust, then you start to see things. That’s the worst. Most a’ the time it ain’t the desiccation that kills you, it’s thinking your sweetheart is just over the ridge and running to get to her, arms open, legs flailing. You lose all your senses, all your smarts go flying out your head and you trip and fall off a damn cliff. Seen more’n a few smiling bodies at the bottom of Coats Canyon. Cruel a’ the forest to let that happen but anyone stupid enough to go out in the trees with nothing in their head and nothing in their hands got it coming.
I filled up the old Conflict flask Kreagar gave me years ago. Wondered brief if he’d got it off a soldier he killed like that rifle a’ his. I had enough water for a day if I was careful and I knew I’d get up the hill and back to the skinny Mussa in half that.
But I didn’t.
That rock wall curved, long and wide and far away from the river. The trees were the same everywhere I looked. I realized, quick and with a big stone falling in my stomach, that I was in one of them False Forests. One of them that they cut down and regrew in straight, soulless rows. Every tree the same size, ground flat as a calm lake, same sickly smell of pine, and nothing in the world to navigate by. Fat green leaves blocked the sky and I only figured it was getting dark when the sundown crickets came chirping. I kept the wall to my right side, made sure I could always see it, always reach out and touch if I needed. Always got to keep your heading straight and true when you’re stuck in a False Forest.
Mussa is just over this rise, I kept saying. Just over this rise.
But it weren’t. Mussa was nowhere. I had an inkling that it went ’neath the rock, hiding from the sun and bears. A fluttering went through my chest. Night was coming quick and I was nowhere close to where I needed to be. I had two fingers of water left and the cold was setting down roots.
Then I saw something that put the fear in me. Some twenty feet north I saw a tree that weren’t like the others. It weren’t uniform and plain. This one had a great gash taken out of the bark. Whole bottom of the tree, from more’n a head higher’n me down to my knees, was stripped of rough brown and taken right back to yellow flesh. I went up to that tree, trembling like a babe. Ground all around was rucked up, muddied even though it hadn’t rained in a week, grasses and moss dead and gone.
I reached out my hand to that tree and prayed I wouldn’t feel what I knew I would.
Warm wood. My blood went colder’n snow melt. I pulled a tuft of brown hair out a snag. Rubbed it ’tween my fingers. Knew it like a kid knows its momma.
This was a brown bear’s rubbing tree. Big bear too, probably close to eight feet on two legs. Tracks led off to the northeast, same way I was going. I hunted bears afore, killed one too, but damn if that weren’t with a rifle and Trapper by my side. On my own, with just a knife? Shit.
I turned tail then. Looked south, back where I came. Figured there might be another way ’round the rock. Maybe I could cross the Mussa, find a way up the other side. But I’d walked a day north and was near out of water. I was invested as Trapper would a’ said. The bear tracks, wide paws, claws longer’n my fingers, led up a rise. Mussa could be over that rise. Bear wouldn’t go too far out of his way just for a rubbing tree.
As I stood there trying to figure out what to do, night was settling down. Tracks quick disappeared and all a sudden I couldn’t see my hand in front a’ my face. Bears can see a whole lot better in no light than I can. I cursed myself. I was in bear country and I didn’t have no fire. No shelter. No hope.
“Shit,” I said and spooked something small on the ground.
Owl started hooting from somewhere up high, starting his dusk hunt. Everything in these woods was out to kill something else. Normal times I was right at the top but that night I could a’ been a lame rabbit for all the chance I had ’gainst a hungry grizzly. Out in the open like that I was fair game for anything. My eyes woke up to the dark and I could see outlines, and that was worse’n not seeing. Everything looked like death to me, a bush was a hunched-over grizzly, a skinny tree stump was a wolf staring right at me. My heart was thumping and kicking in me like it was trying to get free a’ my stupid.
Then I spotted an outcrop near the base of the rock wall. With stone at my back at least I wouldn’t be surprised.
I snapped a few loose branches and a slab of bark off the rubbing tree and went for the wall, hoping there were nothing that already made its home there. No rain for a week had dried up all the leaves and grass to fine tinder. I made me a bundle, scrabbling about in the dark, probably looking a fool, groping blind for leaves.
Panic set deep in my bones. I didn’t have no time left. First rule if you find yourself out in the woods, come dusk you better have a fire or you’re just meat waiting to be ate.
I pulled out my shoelace and tied it tight to one of the branches, curving it right nice. I dug a rut in the bark with my knife, sharpened the end of the other branch, and got ready. Made me a quick-and-dirty bow drill and worked it hard, foot on the end of the bark, till smoke started rising. Smell of burning wood lifted my heart. I caught the ember in the tinder and blew me up some flames.
I had stone and fire ’tween me and anything wanting to take a bite. If a critter got past that I had my knife. Damn good knife, that. Deer-horn handle. Blade sharper than any bear claw. Good knife is hard to come by.
Didn’t even try to sleep, not so close to a grizzly trail. I kept shouting loud, into the trees, letting any bears or wolves know they had a fight coming
if they were stupid enough to try it. Trapper would a’ called me an idiot if he’d caught me out in this state. No shelter. No water. And now I was holed up on the Kodiak Highway. He would a’ slapped me silly and made me gut trout for a month.
Worst job I can think of. I never had much time for fish, you see. Too wet. Too hard to catch. Maybe I just ain’t got the patience. I heard folk used to do it for fun, sitting by the river for days hoping for a nibble. The Fall stopped all that nonsense, and I can’t say I’m cut up about it. One fish for a whole day? That ain’t a good return no matter how you weigh it. I heard half the time they put the slimy suckers back in the river. Fish get smarter see; catch ’em once then they’re trouble to catch again. All them idiots was doing was breeding the stupid out, putting themselves out of dinner.
Trapper took me fishing once when I was ’bout twelve, he said we was going for sockeye salmon in a fat part a’ the Mussa. Said it was they golden pond, place what they came back to every year for egg laying. Trapper had himself a net and he said I had to learn to catch ’em with my bare hands like his daddy taught him when he was a boy. I was up to my belly in that freezing river for nigh on four hours. Didn’t catch a single damn fish while Trapper was pulling ’em out that net like they wanted to be roasting on our fire. I couldn’t even stay on my feet, all them slippery stones ’neath me. Didn’t speak a single word to him all that day till he gave me the first salmon eye, cooked to milky. Delicacy he said, best part to the best hunter, and I felt a swell a’ warm in me.
Ain’t never tasted anything so rotten. Ain’t never heard Trapper laugh so long and so loud neither. So rare to hear that sound though that I couldn’t stay sore at him. Won’t never eat no fish eye ’gain though, no matter some man says it’s delicate.
No way, never had time for fish. You catch a rabbit and that rabbit ain’t gonna learn not to be caught again. That rabbit is going in my pot.
I didn’t see no bear that night. Heard them close though, snoring, snuffling for grubs and roots. They was fattening up, eating everything they could afore the big winter sleep. They’d be extra ornery and wouldn’t think twice ’bout charging anything they thought would take their food. That meant me.
Dawn came up, songbirds tweeted their good mornings. I stamped out the fire and covered it in dirt. Last thing I needed was a blaze chasing me down. ’Sides, you always leave a forest as you found it. That’s just common decency.
I laced up my boot and kept my knife handy. Drank up the last of the water and I prayed something fierce the Mussa would be over the next rise. I started walking and a few hours later, I crested that hill, heart in my mouth with excitement.
Heart sank like stone in soup.
Just more damn rock.
No river. No water. And the last summer heat was rising, turning the forest into a steam trap, agitating the beetles, and pulling sweat out my skin.
The bear tracks led close, skirting the wall, and I had a shaking, fist-in-the-belly feeling. I weren’t exactly lost but I was getting close. The rock blinded me to the land. My world was false trees, gray rock, and a bear trail. Nothing to guide me ’cept my wits and without water, those would soon be playing tricks.
I didn’t have no choice no more. Going back was wasting time and I hated few things worse than wasting time. Mussa was somewhere close and if I couldn’t find it myself, a big ol’ bear sure as shit could. I felt sick for it, but I put one boot a’front the other, put my steps in the bear’s, and trusted two things. First, that this bear knew what in hell he was doing. I hoped to high heaven I wouldn’t find a dead Kody at the end of this trail, searching out for water he never found. Second, and most pressing on my mind, I sure prayed I weren’t gonna meet a live one.
Noon came and went and my throat burned for water. My head filled up with hot irons. Like God was cattle-branding on my brain. No water for most a day, wrapped in my heavy coat, sweating out what I got, felt myself drying up inside. Couldn’t hear no trickling, just mice and birds making a nuisance. Just bugs and flies buzzing about, asking to be stamped and slapped. Then the False Forest started changing. Neat rows swallowed up by creepers and twisting trunks. Bushes sprung up like fat feather pillows and I confess I rushed, head and heart first into that proper woodland.
I kept following that bear trail, walking and running quick as my legs would let me. But the trail started fading or my eyes just stopped seeing it. My mouth was sucking sand, my head was fighting fire. Desiccation was coming.
The forest turned thick and nasty. Thorns snagged at me, roots and vines saw me coming and tripped me. Lost the bear trail in the mess. Birds crowed up in the branches, mocking me harsh every time I stumbled. Ferns up to my chest hid ruts and fallen logs and I figured I mustn’t have gone more’n a handful of miles that whole morning.
Then I heard the voices.
Trapper. Kreagar. He’d snuck up on me and now he was announcing his presence like he’d already won the fight.
“You betrayed me, Elka girl,” he said. “Led ’em right to me.” Trees cut up his voice and I couldn’t tell if it was coming from behind me, above me, hell, he could a’ been crawling in the dirt for all I could figure.
“I didn’t do nothing,” I said, and held my knife tight, slashing at the ferns.
“There ain’t no names in the forest, girl, no one knows who you are, no one going to miss you.” All that rumble, that heat in his voice, was gone. He was talking like a hunter talks to his prey.
“I didn’t tell her nothing, Trapper,” I shouted. I stumbled through them woods, waving my arms around, knocking down phantoms.
“Don’t talk to no one,” he said. “You broke the rules, Elka girl.”
Desiccation got me. Got me good and quick. Trapper always said I didn’t drink enough on the best a’ days. Soon as I found it, I’d drink the Mussa dry and show him how much I learned.
Twig snapped.
Real one. Not no phantom making noises. Snapped me back to the here-now in two seconds flat.
Yellow eyes stared at me out a clump of ferns. No more’n ten strides away. A flash of gray fur ’tween the green. Them eyes blinked quick. It moved through the brush, keeping its gaze right on me and I gripped that knife so tight my skin turned ghost pale.
Wolves ain’t no joke, and one had me in his sights.
Everyone knows that once you seen a wolf, its pack already carved you up for dinner. My heart would a’ drummed right out my chest if my coat weren’t buttoned.
Trapper never taught me to hunt wolves. Every time he went out on a night hunt, I’d ask to come. Never know, I’d said, when I might need to kill a wolf, be a shame if I didn’t know the ways. He always said no, ’course. I figured it was too dangerous and he was protecting me. Fool I was.
Damn him straight to the fire. Bears I know, bears are simple beasts. Wolves have smarts to rival most the folk in Dalston.
Yellow eyes got higher in the ferns, then ears came visible. He was walking up a fallen tree to get himself a better view a’ me. He jumped and my heart near stopped.
Then I all but laughed.
Just a cub, probably only a few months old, all fluff and fat paws. He had a black line a’ fur on his forehead, like someone streaked soot on him.
“You scared the living shit out a’ me, what you doing out here?” I said. ’Course I knew the beast couldn’t answer, but hell, I was still shaking and my head was pounding and I didn’t know what to do.
Skittish little pup he was. At the sound of me he cowered on the log, yelped, and that sound near softened my heart. I looked around, didn’t see no sign of his pack. Didn’t hear no growling, no movement in the ferns, no stalking paws. This little cub was alone in this forest, just like me.
I went closer, hand out in one of them gestures of peace. I didn’t have no meat to offer, and to tell the truth, I felt rude about that.
He bounded off that log away from me, sent wood dust and moss showering all over the ground. He was gone, into the forest, quick as a jackrabbit. The
n I noticed something lifted my heart so high, I thought I might just float away. That log had paw prints on it. Fat, fluffy wet ones.
I leapt over the log and ran and ran. That pup weren’t breathing hard, he weren’t skin and bones, he found water close.
Just over another rise I heard the most amazing sound. Don’t think I ever heard anything so beautiful since. Fast, rushing, magnificent water.
I whooped and hollered and ran all the harder, I didn’t pay no mind to the forest then, didn’t care what was stalking me. I could a’ kicked a bear in the face for all the attention I was paying.
There it was, the stupid, hiding, skinny Mussa. I fell onto my knees and I sucked up that crystal cool river, much as I could fit in. Then I lay on my back on the bank and laughed and laughed.
I said, Thank you little cub, thank you bear trail, thank you forest. The head pain dulled and my wits turned sharp and fierce. Across the shallow river, on the other bank, young yellow eyes stared at me out a’ the reeds. Pup came to the edge and started lapping, black soot smudge on his head. I watched him for a minute, had a wonder where his momma was. Not often you see a pup on his own. Not often they survive. Forest got rules for wolves that are even harsher than rules for humans. A wolf needs a pack. Wolf without a family is as good as dead and this cub, for whatever reason, broke that rule and the forest don’t take kindly to that. Damn though, I thought, I hope the forest forgives him.
He drank his fill and scrambled up the other bank, all gangly and flopping about, none of the skill and grace of a grown wolf. He looked back at the top, then something that weren’t me spooked him and he ran off into the woods. I didn’t expect I’d see that pup again, though I hoped I might. I went to fill up my flask, when I stopped. I looked where the pup had disappeared. I figured I could follow him, make sure he was safe, hell maybe he knew something I didn’t and could lead me to dinner if he weren’t so easy to spook.
